Destination Discipline

The Lost Chord
words by Adelaide Anne Proctor

Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wander’d idly over the noisy keys;
I knew not what I was playing, or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one chord of music like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight like the close of an Angel’s Psalm,
And it lay on my fever’d spirit with a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow like love overcoming strife,
It seem’d the harmonious echo from our discordant life.

It link’d all perplexed meanings into one perfect peace
And trembled away into silence as if it were loth to cease;
I have sought, but I seek it vainly, that one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ and enter’d into mine.

It may be that Death’s bright Angel will speak in that chord again;
It may be that only in Heav’n I shall hear that grand Amen!

Music plays an important role in my life. When I’m running, I like something upbeat like Switchfoot, The Original. I like to pump and jab and jump. Sometimes I even twirl around. When I’m cycling and observing nature I oscillate between Andrew Peterson and Chris Rice. These are my go to artists because they combine words that have depth and meaning with soulful tunes.

But sometimes I lose the music in the cacophony of noise. I search for a soothing sound to comfort my world-weary heart, and I hear only silence. A dull, listless numbing sensation creeps into me and I find myself searching for something, anything to fill the emptiness. Sometimes, as happened yesterday and the day before, there is nothing that comforts. I sit and breathe because that’s all I have the energy to do. It is a frustrating madness that comes over me–one I am pretty much helpless to defeat in myself.

So this morning when I heard the poem by Adelaide Anne Proctor recited, I perked up. She put words to the longing in my heart for that one chord to end all chords. It gave me a reason to hope again. She reminded me that beauty doesn’t cease simply because I am unable to appreciate it. It flourishes in the darkest places, like the concentration camp where Corrie Ten Boom languished, or in the generosity of strangers who fill sandbags when the world is flooding.

One of my friends knows I have not been feeling well. I have been fighting illness for what seems like many months. I was looking forward to the New Year’s holiday because I knew I would be able to rest with no obligations. No yard work to be done. No meals to prepare. No presents to buy or work stress to bog me down. I intended to take full advantage of the opportunity to sit on my bottom. So this morning she sent me a text message that read, “Even Wonder Woman needs to reboot every once in a while.” She said, “Keep resting.” I don’t consider myself anywhere near Wonder Woman territory, but I was glad for the reminder. Still, there is this restlessness in me and a longing for comfort. So I did what I always do. Crunches. Squats. Weight lifting. There is something very soothing to me in the routine of exercise. I didn’t do anything that made me out of breath, I just practiced the steady stream of movement that orders my cluttered brain. Physical activity reminds me I am not hopeless or helpless. I can still move. So in the middle of that exercise, when all of my words were drowned out in the dead feeling of mental exhaustion, I told my God, “I don’t trust my feelings. They lie to me. I trust you. I choose to trust you.”

“Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord–how long?” -King David via Psalm 6:2-3

Christianity defies logic at times. I believe in this invisible God that supposedly loves me enough to come to earth, sacrifice his life for me, and then die on the cross to save me. Sometimes when I hear the gospel message I think to myself, “that is so weird.” But in the night, as last night and the night before, when my dreams take me to troubled places, and my heart beats hard enough to leap from my chest, I wake to tears and fears I didn’t even know I had. I cry out for someone to save me and He is there. He is the refuge for my troubled soul.

I have a friend who has also struggled with depression. I came to know her through a Facebook post a few years ago. The post was short. One or two sentences. She is someone who attends my church that I didn’t know other than through casual conversation. But the few sentences she wrote that day struck my heart. She said she was struggling with serious health issues and needed prayer. I reached out to her and came to understand the deep pain she was fighting against. Her body had become her enemy in more ways than one. She despaired of life, even though she continued to fight. I know exactly how that feels–to choose hope against all odds, even and especially during episodes of greatest despair. She became one of my companions in suffering–an ally at heart, a confidante. Natalie is one of the few people I trust enough to call when my world turns topsy turvy. I trust her with my life because we have plumbed the depths together and found solace in shared suffering. We also cling to the same hope: Jesus.

Natalie has a blog called, Blessed are the Broken, where she sometimes shares her heart. Lately, she is sharing the hope she has found through music. Today, I find comfort in the songs she has written and sings so beautifully. My cracked and dry places feel a little less so when I hear the words to Refuge and You Will not Forget Me.

Today is a beautiful day in more ways than one. I love that the rain has stopped and the flood waters in St. Louis are receding. I am glad the sun is shining and I have had the opportunity to rest and reflect while sipping hot tea and watching a fat and ornery squirrel try to steal seeds from my “squirrel proof” bird feeder. I am glad for the complaints of my children, “Mom, why won’t you let me play the Xbox?” because that means they are still healthy and happy (generally speaking) even though they think I am inflicting cruel and unusual punishment. I am glad for physical weakness. It reminds me I am not enough and that’s okay. I am glad for rest. My body needs it. And I am thankful for music.

One day I’ll hear that lost chord and all this stuff I write about will be a distant memory. I’m really looking forward to that.

I woke up this morning to the sound of thunder. A loud crash of sound accompanied by a deluge of rain sharpened my senses. I peered out of the window to make sure the world hadn’t ended and groggily fumbled for my glasses. As the rainy world before me came into focus, I sighed. I had hoped for snow this Christmas.

But I quickly remembered, Christmas is over. The gifts have all been opened. The sweet treats have been consumed. (Who am I kidding? We still have a gazillion left to consume or sneak into the trash when no one is looking). My children rumble around the house with their assortment of creatures and toys. Everyone is happy, but I feel this sort of discontent in my spirit.

I assumed it was the excess sugar I consumed yesterday and began my strength training regimen. Abdominal crunches. Excruciating butt lifts. Planks, lunges, squats and weights. But the malaise lingered. That is, until my friend Laddie hopped over to visit with me. I rescued this rabbit from a woman on Craiglist a number of years ago. He is a Holland lop and weighs all of 2 pounds. He makes strength training fun because he hops all around my mat and tries to cuddle with me. He insists that I pet him and nuzzle him. If I don’t, he nips me or attacks my mat with his paws–digging and tugging with his sharp teeth. Sometimes I playfully swat him away, but not today. Today I just stopped and kissed the top of his head. So he repaid the favor and licked my nose, and we cuddled. I snapped a picture of him mid-bliss. There is nothing he loves more than when I cuddle with him.

And in that moment I just felt safe and warm. Because of a sometimes ornery, often bewildering, mostly lovable rabbit.

On Christmas day my husband’s father came to visit. In his youth he worked at The Humane Society. He began to tell us tales of his experiences there and it was heart-wrenching. He spoke of the people who dropped off puppies in boxes and asked, “These will get adopted, right?” He said the staff would say, “We can’t make any promises, but we do our best. Then they would walk them to the back only to euthanize them because there wasn’t space to house them. There were just too many animals and not enough kennels. He spoke of injured animals and confiscations and cruel veterinarians who didn’t want to mess with “another stupid cat” so they would euthanize it. I looked at my rabbit and considered how fortunate he is, and how many are not. I thought about the kitten I saw at my vet’s office recently. A woman had picked it up(a stray) and brought it in because it was bleeding from the nose. Another casualty of man’s indifference to the animal kingdom. I thought about how so many people consider animals as amusement rather than a living creature that thrives or dies at our whims. And finally, I thought about the cat who loved me–a cat I had grown weary of–and how I sent it to the pound because I was ignorant and couldn’t figure out how to get rid of its fleas. What a broken, messed up, world I live in. And look at how I contribute to the mess.

How I long for this world to be redeemed. How I long to be redeemed.

I got what I wanted for Christmas. My oldest son is home for a brief stay. I got to see him graduate. But he leaves again in a few weeks. The satisfaction I feel in spending time with him is fleeting, just like every other Christmas present I have ever received. So today, as I feel this pensive, reflective contentment, I also feel the need for the permanent–the solid–the conclusion to my deferred happy ending.

I know I can’t save myself. I can’t save all the rabbits or kittens either. This is why I follow One who can. I know my life is temporal. I only have so many days and hours to live. And I know this world is a dark place, even if I do see light refracted through the clouds on a regular basis. So on this gloomy day when there are no leaves on the trees and my heart is a little heavy, I am glad that my hope is not in myself or in all of the distractions this world has to offer. Christmas may be over, but Christ is still risen.

The tree sparkles with lights. The ornaments from Christmases past remind me I am home. I am safe with my familiar rabbit angel and my little brass bell. When I feel the inclination, I open my music box egg and listen to the plinking sounds of “Joy to the World.” The candy canes dangle delightfully. They look perfect from a distance, red and white striped. They are a sweet treat for a cold winter’s night. But the sad truth we recently discovered is that once you begin to unwrap them, they fall into pieces. This is especially frustrating for my young son who was expecting a solid piece of candy to hold in his hands. Instead he ends up with a heap of shards. I suppose someone dropped the box while in the delivery stage but it was not noticeable when I purchased them—something my boy reminds me every time he approaches the tree.

I was talking to a friend recently. She is a jolly old soul whose quick wit and joyful demeanor have done much to brighten my life over the years. She was the first to encourage me when my son enlisted in the Marines. Her husband was a Marine in his younger days and she empathizes. She is steady like a rudder, always guiding the conversation to cheer and support. She affectionately calls me “Kiddo” and is fast with a grin. She was wishing me a Happy Holiday when she said, “My family’s spirits are a bit dampened this year. My brother has bladder cancer.” She said it as an aside and I suppose I could have brushed it off but for my sincere affection for her. I considered what I should say in that moment and my words failed me.

She is not unlike that candy cane—so pretty and sweet in her simple way, but once you remove the wrapper, the cracks emerge. And I begin to wonder. Why do I expect a “happy holiday?” Is it the years of Hallmark Holiday specials that have primed me for the great happy ending? Is it the knowledge that gifts are coming on December 25th—as if a trifling present can wipe away the tears brewing in my heart? Not to say that I’m sad. I’m not. But many people are. When the words “peace, hope, and joy” are being thrown around like a strand of popcorn garland, do we somehow become so desensitized to them that we forget the meaning behind the syntax?

Another friend is single and in the golden years of life. She does not have children but takes great delight in giving gifts to others. She never complains, and is in fact, the first to encourage. So when she recently said to me, “I just don’t feel the holiday spirit this year,” I paused. What is this holiday spirit we are supposed to feel? And if lacking, where is the magic dust I can buy to sprinkle around my heart to make it feel more, well, whatever it is I’m supposed to be feeling?

My son is home for Christmas and has proudly graduated from Marine Boot Camp. It is such a happy time in my home. He tells us story after story of all the wonders of his experience over the past few months. He grunts like the drill instructors, leading me to wonder if he should occupy that position one day. And in serious moments he says things like, “My drill instructor said something that I really took to heart. He was right. And it made me want to try harder.” And in those moments I see the fruit of my ceaseless prayers, and I feel this swell of pride and love such as I have never experienced before. But even then I feel the parting. The moment is not far off when I will wish him goodbye, and my heart cracks, just like those candy canes on my tree.

This past Sunday our pastor was ill at the last minute. In what I assume to be a frantic moment, he called a member of our church to step in and preach. This young man stood before our little congregation and very humbly said, “This is probably not a proper sermon, but rather, let’s call it a devotional because I’ve had very little time to prepare.” And then he began to read Isaiah 9:6.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

He began to talk about his experiences as a father. It was truly delightful to hear him speak about his young children and his “parental failures”. But not one time in the message did he mention the child who is not present; the little girl they lost a few short years ago when all of the light drained out of their lives. But his words held special meaning for me because I know about the anguish they experienced. So when he spoke about our great hope made flesh in the form of baby Jesus, it meant something. It’s not an old wives tale or a magic dust I can sprinkle around my heart. This hope is real. It is tangible. It is present, even amongst the pain of my life and those around me.

I suppose we could get into a debate about Santa Claus and Jesus, and why people celebrate Christmas with the giving of gifts. Even my young son asked me the other day, “Why does Santa bring presents but Jesus doesn’t?” It caught me off guard and I didn’t know what to say. Talk about epic parental fails. But I remember now… The reason Jesus doesn’t “give us presents” is because he IS the present. He is the great gift—the promised one of old, the beautiful Prince of Peace, the one who will one day wipe all of the tears from our eyes and erase all of our boo boos. He will eradicate bladder cancer and “lack of holiday spirit” and even the loss of our loved ones. It is this “hope” to which I cling and which gives me an abundance of “joy.”

So today if you are hurting, if you feel the loss of that person you loved, if the physical pain is overwhelming, if your emotional burdens threaten to drown you, take heart. There is hope for you too. His name is Jesus. He was born in a manger. He grew up and gave up his life on a cross. And then he rose again from the dead so you could be saved from eternity without God. That’s hope I can believe in and I hope you will too.

Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. – Isaiah 9:7